The small crowd struggled to hold the man in place.
“I’m losing my grip!”
“Don’t let go of his good leg!”
Heavy breathing, mixed with grunts, filled the otherwise quiet ER.
Jennie hurried to assist the salt and pepper haired medic she’d grown to love like a father. “What’s he on, Mitch?”
“Flakka. What else?”
They whipped the rolling bed into the closest curtain-lined room and set the brakes.
She stood over the agitated man and trapped one of his wrists to the bed.
He kicked out and connected with a metal tray, sending instruments clanking on the floor.
“I’ve got him.” An officer nudged her aside.
She glared at the man next to her. Did she look like she couldn’t handle herself? Sure, he had four or five inches on her five-seven frame and probably outweighed her by seventy-five pounds, but really? She had a job to do, and he’d butted in.
Doctor Jeremy Bennett scurried into the bay with Jennie’s nurse friend Tammy on his heels. Tammy tightened the straps across the patient’s body and added her weight to restrain the injured man.
“Nielson, take care of Detective Whitman. It seems trouble found him again.” Bennett raised a brow at the officer.
The detective’s partner took over, and Whitman wrapped his hand around his bicep.
“Yes, doctor.” Her gaze landed on the officer’s upper arm. Blood had soaked the cloth wrapped around his arm. “Sir, if you’ll follow me.”
The detective grumbled. He limped to the next bay and slid onto the exam table.
Jennie grabbed the white cloth screen.
“Leave it open.”
She pivoted. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t shut the curtain.” His tone left no room for argument.
Just what she needed, another overbearing, controlling, egotistical man—Not. Of course, she might be a little jaded after barely surviving her living nightmare. “Listen, Detective—”
“David.”
She bit the inside of her cheek, keeping the sarcasm from tumbling from her lips. Law enforcement officers had a reputation for having a take-charge demeanor, and rightly so, but this man tried her patience.
Let it go and do your job.
She inhaled and returned her attention to the supply tray. “Okay—David. What happened?” Jennie snapped on a clean pair of blue latex gloves and turned to face him.
He jutted his chin toward the man that continued to struggle against those trying to treat him. “Bad guy over there decided to run. I twisted my ankle and sliced my arm on the edge of a metal fence.”
She unwrapped the bandana around David’s arm. The jagged gash required stitches, but not severe enough for immediate attention. She rinsed the wound with saline and rewrapped his bicep with a compression wrap until the doctor had time to stitch the cut, then moved to his ankle and poked and prodded.
He hissed in a breath.
“Well, tough guy, the good news, neither are too serious. Bad news, you’ll be sore, and you’ll need a few stitches. Plus, a tetanus shot if you’re not up to date.” She could have sworn the man turned green. “Something wrong?”
The muscles in his jaw twitched. “Just hate needles.”
